Blindsighted
by laureny8man
Summary: "You ain't goin' home any time soon with that murder on your hands, sweetheart." With a bounty on her head, Beth is ripped away from her home and taken far to the east, where Daryl says she'll be safe from the executioner's block. Daryl's past sends them into peril, and they both begin to see the world they live in for what it really is. AU, T for language, violence.
1. Chapter 1

"No, Jimmy, I told you – I _can't_."

"Aw, c'mon Beth, just this once. For me, c'mon."

Beth ducked her head and hid her smile in the bale of hay. He was so persistent it made her smitten down to her toes. Ridiculous, really. She'd known him since they were mere children, and here he was insisting she accompany him on a date tonight, to the stream out past the meadery, no less! Folk called it Mara's Pride, and not without reason. The thought of going out there with Jimmy made her blush furiously. She hacked at another length of twine, watched the bale fall apart as she opened her mouth to protest. "Jimmy, the Bannered Mare, I-"

"I'm sure they won't miss you terribly," he teased.

Her popped in a disbelieving 'o'. She sheathed her baling knife and rounded on him, a smile on her face despite her best effort. "You watch it, or you'll be the one missing me!"

His face lifted with renewed hope as he took a cheeky step forward. "So that's a yes, then?"

Beth lifted her chin, hoping to look a little less bashful than she supposed she did. "Just for that, it's a maybe."

Jimmy laughed, already knowing she'd meet him at the crossroads after sundown. "I'll see you round, then."

"Maybe." She quirked an eyebrow.

He grinned. There was a moment's hesitation before he darted forward and placed a kiss on her cheek.

Beth released a breath she didn't know she'd been holding when he turned his back and hurried away. One second more and he would have seen her cheeks bleed a humiliating shade of red. She glanced around for her father before remembering he'd be in a court council at this hour. When he found her sister with a boy for the time, Beth was sure the folk down in Riverwood had heard the yelling. By the Eight, if he saw their exchange she'd be running for the hills, Hershel hot on her heels.

With Jimmy gone, and the bustle of the city muffled behind the walls of Whiterun, an unsettling silence fell over the yard. Over the week, there'd been a few bandit raids, one even resulting in a death on Chillfurrow Farm up the road. The Jarl had put a bounty on their heads and posted a few extra guardsmen around the Hold but the lack of company still unnerved her.

The eerie silence continued to build until midday. Beth was mucking out the stables when she heard it. A screech that was more a sensation of unbearable dread than a sound – it tore at the soul and shook the earth beneath one's feet.

No one had heard the cry of a dragon in years. All the seasoned soldiers boasted about the days they'd wielded weapons against one of the great scaly beasts, some even telling tales of fighting beside the legendary Dragonborn. The dragons lived on in songs sung in every inn across Skyrim but there hadn't been a sighting since Beth was a young girl.

Anxiety settled in the set of her shoulders. She tried to shake it off, told herself it was naught but her imagination. All the same, her hand went to her dagger, sheathed at her hip. What good it would do against any hostility, she didn't know – sometimes it struggled to cut baling twine.

Silence fell once more, and in it Beth heard the sudden jingling of chainmail.

Beth froze, save for the grip on her dagger, her knuckles turning white over the leather hilt. When a hand touched her shoulder, she whirled, and in the only defence her body could conjure, thrust the blade out and wide.

And straight into the yellow doublet of a Hold guard.

There was a second that stretched itself into hours as the man drew a choking breath. Beth felt his body pulsate around her knife as her fist turned red with foreign blood. Gaping, she looked up to find wide eyes beneath the half-helm and watched as the light died in the young man's eyes. She drew the blade from his chest and gave a small cry, stumbling back into the hay.

As the body hit the ground, a great shadow swept over the earth, blotting out the sun. Before Beth could think to run, a dragon's cry thundered so loud and close her ears rang. She screamed once before the roof above her head turned to splint and cinder.

* * *

Daryl cursed.

He'd been after a horse, now he had a goddamned dragon riled for a fight, five guards riled for a fight, and to top that off, was witness to murder.

Whiterun was nice enough, sure, but he'd been sitting around for too long, growing a little too complacent in the city, so much so it made him uncomfortable. He had missed this, the thrill of a job, the taste of danger a little more potent than half-drunk brawls and hunting on the plains. What he didn't realize is that he'd not only missed it but he'd also gotten a little rusty at it. Well, he was realising it now, and was horrified at the little voice in the back of his head telling him to get back inside the city gates and go sulk with some mead. A couple of years ago Daryl Dixon would've had his crossbow up that dragon's nose, screaming bloody murder. Now he was wary, stealth and silence his weapon of choice. His crossbow still hung at his back, but a few years of sitting on his ass made him reluctant to charge into battle. That, and the guards forming messy ranks not a hundred yards from him.

He relented, crouching in the shadows behind the horseman's house as he watched the open stables collapse, that girl lying unconscious inside. He'd been surprised when she'd sunk that pig-sticker in the guard's chest. If he'd been the only witness he'd be on a horse by now, gunning it for the mountain pass. But no, there'd been one other – that prick Walsh, Captain of the Guard, had stood open mouthed as his buddy fell dead on the ground. He'd had to turn his back to draw his bow on the dragon – now returning to the sky with planks of Greene's stables still in its clutches – but Walsh had seen enough to send that girl to prison for manslaughter.

Daryl darted forward into the quickly deteriorating building and made for a saddled horse, capturing the reins as the animal tossed its head around in wild fright. The fray of dragon-fire was a better distraction than he could have hoped for. Through the crackle of flames and protests of charred and splintering wood, he heard one of the at least three sounds he had hoped not to. He glanced around for the origins of the groans of pain. The Greene girl was slumped in the dirt, bloodied and bruised, pinned at her waist beneath the weight of a fallen support beam. He cursed – if he left her there unchecked, she'd either burn in the attack or live to go to prison. The image of that pale skin melting off the bone was enough to bring his stomach to the back of his teeth and he'd seen for himself what prison did to even the strongest men. Daryl wasn't a man of high morals but leaving the farmer's daughter to the jaws of fate didn't sit right with him, to say the least.

Tying his mount's reins to the nearest thing that wasn't on fire, he weaved through the debris to reach the girl. With the roof torn away, he was a sitting duck for an attack so he moved like a man possessed. The midday sun caught the blood glistening on Greene's forehead, made her skin look translucent. He felt for her pulse and gave her a brief once-over for any serious injury. Finding naught but a less than steady heartbeat and a swelling gash in her hairline, he assessed the pillar situation.

With a length of hardwood that size, he took a second to wonder how she hadn't been flattened, then saw that the long end of the pillar had landed on the edge of a burning bale, preventing it from crushing her completely. She'd been saved by the sheer length of it, and not an inch too short. With some difficulty, he hefted the beam out of the way, and scooped her up and over his shoulder. As he turned to his horse, a glint of steel caught his eye from the dust. On a whim, he grabbed the bloody knife and pocketed it. Be nice not to leave a murder weapon in his wake.

Praising the horse's mild manner in a crisis and Greene's slight frame, Daryl slung her over the front of the saddle. Once he'd swung himself into mount, he sat her up best he could before snatching the reins. With the screech of the dragon coming for a second time to urge him on, he kicked the horse in the gut and high-tailed it out of the burning stables.

Sitting atop a stolen mount in his Thieves Guild armour with a murder suspect slumped between his knees; Daryl smiled to think of his collective bounty. He spared a glance over his shoulder and saw Walsh shouting to three or four men, pointing in his direction. Daryl brushed it off. That dragon would keep the entire Hold busy long enough for him to make an escape. They wouldn't spare men for a horse thief at a time like this.

He was proven wrong, though, when the first arrow whizzed past his ear, followed by half a dozen more. He didn't look back this time, but spurred the horse on. The animal thudded with every hoof-fall beneath him and the Greene girl, wilting forward and bouncing around awkwardly, clung to its mane even in unconsciousness. He felt a little fear at the prospect of her being thrown off but couldn't entertain the idea for long.

With arrows chasing him on like a cloud of angry bees, Daryl rode east. Five years in this skeever hole of a city and now, without the damnedest idea what he was going to do with Greene, he was finally heading home.

* * *

**If you didn't pick it up, this fic is very AU, very much a crossover over with Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. Firstly my reason for not listing it as an official crossover was because whose going to go looking for Walking Dead/Skyrim fics, right? Secondly, if you're not familiar with Skyrim, don't panic. I'm completely avoiding the main storyline for the game, just borrowing the universe. Just think Lord of the Rings, maybe a bit of Game of Thrones. For those of you who have played Skyrim, if you didn't pick it up, it's been several years since the fall of Alduin for the characters.**

**Anyhow, I was reluctant to actually post this now. I would have preferred to have a couple more finished chapters up my sleeve but I think I'd like to actually see if this has any potential interest for readers.**

**Hmu if you've got any questions, either here or on tumblr (user iampala). Reviews make me super happy.**


	2. Chapter 2

Beth's head throbbed something wicked.

She'd been knocked out once before, when she was nine years old and Maggie was teaching her to ride. Sitting high and mighty in her saddle, she'd gotten so cocky that she'd asked Maggie to tease the horse with the leather crop. Old Nellie had bolted, quickly relieving Beth of her confidence and her seat on the saddle. She'd toppled off and over the flank of her horse, landed square on her shoulder and smacked her head on the gravel. Maggie had screamed at the top of her lungs until Hershel appeared, armed with a salve and his "doctor face". Her head had pounded for three days afterwards.

Now, Beth wondered vaguely where her sister and father were. If she'd been knocked unconscious, why wasn't her father fretting over her, coaxing her awake with a damp cloth? She felt cold stone beneath her, felt something solid digging into her back. Why had they left her lying on the ground?

With surprising difficulty, Beth forced her eyes open. She took in a stone stairwell, a heavy wooden door, several barrels and a splash of dark crimson on stone walls before the late afternoon sun slanting through a window above her drove a searing pain through her brow. She sank back into unconsciousness with a building sense of panic.

Where was she?

* * *

When Beth opened her eyes again, it was with a start.

The afternoon light was gone, she noted with sweet relief. It was instead replaced with the soft glow of a dying fire, the low flickering flames much easier on her explosive headache. The clang of steel on stone still rang in the air, and it took her a moment to realize why she had woken. There'd been a small spit set up over the fire, and one of the forks had fallen, ringing against the stone fire pit. The pink flesh of a rabbit was now lying in the embers.

Beth paused. Rabbit?

Head still pulsating, she studied her surroundings. She was no longer in the stone room she'd woken up to before. She was laid out on a hide sleeping roll, on a rough wooden floor. This room was bigger than the last, more open. Two stairwells – one going up, one leading down. A door-less threshold exposed a landing and a night sky. She heard the rushing of a river from outside. The whole place felt temporary, like it was built for storage, not domestication. Unrest hung tangible in the air like a wet cloth.

"Shit!"

Beth was about to decide she was thoroughly perplexed when she jumped and scurried back into a corner. A hooded figure appeared at the top of the stairs, and she saw the moonlight glint off a blade at his hip. She watched with a building sense of apprehension as the figure padded down the stairwell, his footfalls almost silent. He crouched over the fire. With a casual swing of his arm, his blade was drawn, revealing a plain steel dagger. Beth had never seen anything more terrifying in her entire life. She cowered unnoticed in her corner, frozen despite the trembling that raked her body. The throbbing in her head raced her pounding heart and she was horrified when she cried out in pain.

The figure spun on his heel, glinting blade raised for attack. Though his face was shrouded in shadow, she felt his gaze fall on her shaking form like a blanket of smoke, suffocating and searing. He relaxed, his armed hand falling to rest on his knee. He huffed in a less terrifying manner than Beth would have expected. "S'just you," he rumbled. He turned back to the fire, using his blade to prop up the hot, fallen spit.

Beth breathed a little easier when he turned his back. With shaking hands, she pushed herself from her balled up position on the floor so she was at least kneeling. The movement awoke a familiar pain in her groin – she'd been on a horse, despite not remembering mounting one in the last day. The pain bled through her thighs, right down to her knees and up her spine some. It'd been a rough ride, and a long one. Beth balked – how far was she from Whiterun? Gods, where was she? A little bit of fear in her stomach turned to anger, fuelled by the pain screaming along her forehead. Had this man knocked her unconscious and dragged her here? She glanced around for a weapon and her gaze landed on a pair of forge tongs not far from where she crouched. She stood quietly and very nearly doubled over with the agony it brought her head. With an iron will, she kept her mouth shut. Beth held her breath, her heart thumping with fear, pain and a burning hate, and reached for the tongs. She took a tentative step forward, then another, the iron tool heavy in her hands. Good. If she got a neat swing, she might knock him out in one go. A voice in the back of her mind told her she had a better chance of becoming High King of Skyrim than sneaking up on her captor but she had to try. The man still crouched before the fire, poking at the embers with a stick. When Beth stood behind him, confident she really had gone unnoticed, she raised her rusty tongs. With a guttural cry, she brought them down with all the strength she could muster.

The figure whirled and raised a hand to meet her attack, snatching her wrist like a cat would a mouse. Beth could have cried with anguish when the tongs halted mere inches from his face. Instead, she stood frozen as her eyes meet his – hooded and smoky blue in the firelight, accented by high, sharp cheekbones. A heavy dusting of stubble along a sharp jawline. Completely calm and unsurprised, the man stared right back. She was surprised to find his face quite striking – and familiar.

"Daryl?"

* * *

**It's not as long as I would have liked, but I felt like it had to end there. Sorry, not sorry, all that jazz.**

**I don't own The Walking Dead, or Skyrim, but I'm quite sure you're not that impressionable.**

**Thanks for the read, reviews make me happy!**


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